Anspgelike 1 Taste Test
by SlashAS
Summary: Angel and Spike taste different flavoured crisps in Angel's Mansion to pass the time.


Anspigelike.

Taste test.

Angel: I'm getting sick of blood lately, have we got anything else?

Spike: Especially since it's come from the slaughter house over yonder.

Angel: Well if you're planning on feasting on humans.

Spike: You'll dust me, I know, those poor oinkers. I love it when they squeal though.

Angel: You sicken me

Spike: So I guess that you're one of the apple in the mouth types then.

Angel: Oh you're so going to get some Lord of the Flies action.

Spike: Always fancied myself as a bit of a Jack,

Angel: You're a bit more Simon, such a weakling and with the platinum hair. And you can't defend yourself.

Spike: And I suppose that you'd have to be the hero! And you can save the world with your magic shell.

Angel: I could eat your coat I'm so hungry, mmm leather.

Spike: You can keep well off, stick to your poofy leather pants, Angelus Lewellyn Bowen.

Angel: What? Who?

Spike: Let's just get some food.

Spike opens the cupboard.

Spike: What have we here? A cheese sandwhich, no thanks.

Angel: I like cheese!

Spike: Cos you are cheesy aren't you mate? In the bin the sandwhich goes.

Angel: Shut up Spike

Spike: Mouse, hmm, this has got a label on it, Fred's jam, yummy, Raspberry.

Angel: Can I have some?

Spike: Nope, you can have the cheese sandwhich I just cobbed in the bin.

Angel: What else is in there?

Spike: Oh crisps, expired May 2002, these should do nicely, I remember getting these a bit back from some guy who'd been to England.

Angel: Never had crisps before, wonder what they taste like?

Spike: Aha, you've just given me an idea for a little game. Put on this blindfold.

Angel puts on the blindfold.

Spike: I'm gonna give you some samples of these crisps and I want you to guess which flavour they are.

Angel: Should be fun, I guess, if that's your idea of fun.

Spike: Shut up.

Spike stuffs a crisp into Angel's mouth. Angel utters a muffled cry.

Angel: Mmm, mmm, these are delicious, cheese but there's something I don't recognise.

Spike: Knew you'd like this flavour. It's cheese and onion. Try this one.

Angel: Yuck sour cream.

Spike: Not many people like that one. Here's the next one.

Angel: Tastes just like Cheese and onion but with more of a kick.

Spike: That's Cheese and Owen.

Angel: It tastes a bit like plastic.

Spike: Huh?, always knew you were a bit queer, in the taste buds department anyway.

Angel: Sharp texture to it as well.

Spike: Just a minute, you've got summat blue in your mouth.

Angel: What is it?

Spike: Oh, you've won a signed Michael Owen football, how nice?

Angel: How come?

Spike: Well it says on the back of the packet mate, " Walkers is giving away 1000 signed Michael Owen special edition footballs, In selected packets of Cheese and Owen and Monster Owen Munch are hidden blue packets" I can't be bothered to read the rest so.

Angel: I was chewing on my prize?

Spike: Yup

Angel: Yuk

Spike: I know, Michael Owen, Liverpool bastered, at least it's not Ryan Giggs, playing for Wales and Not for England, grr.

Angel: Open the packet so I can send off for my free football, I want my free football.

Spike: Shut your mouth before I call you pre-school Angel

Spike tears open the packet.

Angel: What does it say?

Spike: Congratulations you've won

Angel: Yahoo, I won

Spike: A free packet of Cheese and Owen or Salt and Lineker crisps.

Angel: Oh, can't win em all, I'll take the Salt and Lineker flavour. Go down to the British shop later and get me some.

Spike: Oh crap, it says in the small print, please redeem by 8th June 2003.

Angel: Oh, I just want to have a bite of that delicious leather football.

Spike: Oh are we developing a passion for cows now?

Angel: I'm so hungry.

Spike: Try this flavour then.

Spike shoves a large handful of crisps into Angel's mouth.

Angel: These are okay, but they taste just like my blood.

Spike: Yup, my personal favourite.

Angel: Is it blood flavour?

Spike: Nope

Angel: Your personal favourite? Manchester United flavour?

Spike: You really have been away from the real world for quite some time haven't you Angelus?

Angel: I'm kidding with you, it's smoky bacon, must be cos it tastes of pigs.

Spike: Nope, it's smoky Beckham.

Angel: Do the crisp companies always name their products after footballers?

Spike: No this was just a one off for the world cup.

Angel: These flavour chips

Spike: Crisps

Angel: Whatever, taste a bit Mexican

Spike: Correction, they're Spanish in flavour

Angel: Well you really can't tell the difference and I suppose Smoky Bacon tastes just like these?

Spike: Nope, you see Smoky Beckham crisps taste like traitors because they left Manchester United to go and play for Real Madrid.

Angel: Why does that make him a traitor?

Spike: You heard me! I don't likes to get cocky abouts the situation, but he's become a bloomin Spaniard.

Angel: What was the use of the Armarda then?

Spike: We go and wipe the damn basterds out only to have our natives go and play happy families football edition with the enemy.

Angel: I always knew soccer was full of political conflict, why don't we all just stick to foose ball?

Spike: It's tabletop football, it's football mate, foot ball. Why do you yanks have to go and change everything? You'll be making Buckingham palace into a twin towers memorial next.

Angel: You're sick Spike, well at least in soccer we kick the ball.

Spike: We do too and more than you.

Angel: Nice poetry Spike, I'm sure the Manchester United fans with be singing that until Liverpool bring the FA cup trophy home.

Spike: Don't you go getting all Cocky on me, we Brits sure can kick the ball, the Irish like you are too interested in becoming Americans in their millions and you're a prime example.

Angel: Only the midfielders and the defenders kick the ball, your strikers are too busy falling down trying to get penalties and pretending they're injured in the other side's net cos they can't score from outside the box anymore and they don't want to embarrass themselves.

Spike: That's why the good, patriotic, fair play US of A never get past the first round, and they go around the pitch playing handball and trying to make it to fourth base.

Angel: We thrashed your ass back in 1750.

Spike: That's a lil too far back for ol' Spikey here, so would you care to explain?

Angel: Well, we had some English immigrants round and we played soccer in the street with a hog's bladder and we beat you 5-1!

Spike: How very delightful that you scored before the pigs decided to splatter, what real geniuses you were? And you're just bluffing cos you were Irish back then remember and the English pig dog enemies, (You told me this story the other week remember cos I said the World Cup was coming up) The Pig dog other side were your English relatives that were staying with you for the weekend.

Angel: Yeh and we thrashed England's backside.

Spike: Oh wonderful sweet shamrock land, how I just want to bow down and worship you.

Angel: Oh Spikey how I wish you would stop criticising my victory over your puny country.

Spike: Oh Angel how very heroic of you helping the helpless of Ireland by kicking pigs guts into a door post, oh how your Dad must have cheered.

Angel: I think I have found an excuse to give you a yellow card.

Spike sticks two fingers up at Angel.

Angel: Make that a red one.

Spike: You know in British football we use our feet and in American football you use your bloody hands. I always knew that Americans were fond of the opposite way of thinking to sense.

Angel: And all British people do is work everyday of their lives, pay taxes, just to be conned by their pension scheme.

Spike: Oh Angel's pension expired a long time ago.

Angel: And Spike's has just gone into liquidation. Spikey would prefer to scrounge off the state would he? I mean, never see you do much work around here.

Spike: And I hardly ever get paid, apart from it seems when I save your butt.

Angel: Oh Spike's getting Americanised is he, butt instead of arse.

Spike: Shut up, rather than your fancy suits, give me my poor working class punk clobber and your fast cars any day.

Angel; You're not having my cars.

Spike: Yes I am and you're going to have more crisps.

Spike shoves a large handful of crisps into Angel's mouth.

Angel; mmm, mmm, these are gorgeous.

Spike: Yes it's more Cheese and Owen.

Angel: They taste different though.

Spike: That's cos I dipped it in barbecue sauce.

Angel: So you can use crisps like nachos then?

Spike: Bloomin eck, shut up with all that American crap, it's Doritos, Doritos!

Angel: They're two different things.

Spike: But it's a Barbecue dip for Doritos not nachos. You'll be telling me that salt and vinegar goes on pretzels next and not chips.

Angel; Are you talking about Salt and Lineker? I heard you mumbling about them the other day in your sleep, you said I really got to get some of that Salt and Lineker.

Spike: Chips are fries and they're not potato chips they're crisps for the second time, but you so love potatoes don't you?

Angel: Potatoes yeh.

Spike: You wailed so much during the potato famine that I had to paint an apple brown and paint black spots on it to shut you up, and when you got suspicious I was forced to expand my French abilities and refer to it as a Pomme de Terre.

Angel: What did you do to my Mr Potato head?

Spike: I donated it to the children's hospital.

Angel: Oh how nice, you evil SOB.

Spike: Yes I love my horns and my tail thank you.

Angel: I love these Cheese and Owen crisps, they're my favourite.

Spike: I prefer Smoky Bacon.

Angel: Smoky Beckham.

Spike: Do I heckers? Bacon for me, seven's not so lucky when it's a twenty three.

Angel: Again with the bloody poetry.

Angel takes off his blindfold.

Angel: Thanks for that, I needed some different food for a change. I've got special food for you that I've had hidden away for quite a while just for you. It was just been saved for the right day that's all.

Spike: What?

Angel: Put on the blindfold.

Spike puts on the blindfold and sits down.

Spike: Give it to me then.

Angel tips a bucket of pigs blood onto Spike's head.

Angel: There you go a little something to remember us Americans by, what does it taste like?

Spike: Pigs blood, how nice?


End file.
